


twin fires

by Stunningfire



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 16:05:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2031318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stunningfire/pseuds/Stunningfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a drabble. Les Mis AU, kinda. Enjolras/Éponine, sorta not really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	twin fires

He had only glimpsed her for an instant before she slipped away again, but the fact was that he had seen her, and Éponine prided herself on her expertise at Not Being Seen.

When she turned around and met his glass green eyes, she almost dropped the wallet she had stolen seconds before.

He’d surprised her.

She clutched onto the wallet tightly and disappeared into the crowd, expecting him to call her out at any moment, but a few seconds passed and she broke out free, free until she opened the wallet and realized it contained nothing but a few pictures and coins.

Stupid.

Her empty stomach reminded her to be more careful next time.

 

* * *

 

Enjolras had seen the girl before, the street rat with matted hair and wild eyes, living off the money she took from people’s pockets. He pitied her, and so the next time he ran into her outside the Cafe, he held out a crisp 20-dollar bill for her to take. She barely looked at the money before she spat on him, hissing “I don’t need your charity,” and taking off.

Up close, Enjolras could see the gaunt outline of her ribs, the hollowness of her cheekbones. He shook his head. She was foolish, but you had to admire her ferocity.

 

* * *

 

The winter was coming on fast, ready to kill. Éponine could feel the cold seeping into her bones, see her breath fogging against the air as she shivered and clutched tighter to the only garments in her possession. She went without meals more often now, and as the pangs of hunger gnawed at her stomach, devouring her from the inside, she almost regretted not taking his money.

Almost.

If nothing, Éponine still had her pride.

 

* * *

 

The next time he saw her, she was huddled on a park bench, doubled over coughing. A soft layer of snow had gathered upon her back and the top of her head.

“Take my coat,” said Enjolras, holding it out to her. “I have an extra at home” — but she pushed it away, her flashing eyes communicating what she could not say through her coughs.

“At least take some money,” he tried again, but no, no, she would not take anything from him. And so, helpless, he put his coat back on and walked away, leaving the miserable creature who possessed a fire that, somehow, still burned brightly despite the greedy tendrils of frost.

 

* * *

 

Éponine heard the concern laced through that man’s voice and hated it, hated the pity, hated feeling weak, hated her own stubbornness.

The cough wasn’t going away anytime soon.

Through fevered eyes, she could see the passersby staring at her. _I can’t disappear, not anymore_ , she thought dimly.

Éponine could hardly move, but the hunger pushed her to her feet and she fought. Fought because she was a survivor. Fought because ever since her father kicked her out, she’d never had to depend on anyone but herself, and never would.

She fought until she could no longer stand, the cough ripping her apart and the hunger eating her from within and the cold stealing her breaths. She fought until she was brought to her knees, and then she gave up fighting, because there was nothing left of her to fight for anymore.

 

* * *

 

Enjolras never saw her again, and it saddened as well as frustrated him. _I could have saved you. Why didn’t you let me save you?_ Yet he had no time to dwell, for with Lamarque’s death, he had more than enough on his mind already. A revolution… a real revolution; they would finally be actually fighting to make a difference.

Enjolras had dreamed of this for so long…

…but not like this, no. Not when every cannon blast meant another one of his friends dead, another family he’d betrayed. The promises he’d made, promises of a new world and better beginnings and no more suffering… gone. Gone in the smoke of gunfire, in the blood flowing freely along the cobbled streets. And his miserable little barricade, the only one left standing, facing an army that outnumbered them a hundred to one.

But they stood by him, ready to fight, and as he held the red flag high, she flashed into his mind. And Enjolras understood — because dying is not the worst thing that can happen to you, dying is simply another journey, and a price one might pay for something better. Her pride, a silly thing to die for, perhaps, but all she had left. And his revolution.

He understood, because he had his own fire.

He was still smiling when the cannons blew his world to shreds.


End file.
